Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7)

by Amber Kallyn

  "You're certain?" Something in Matt's voice caught her attention. It wasn't disbelief, or doubt.

  "I am. Why?"

  "My clan is responsible for watching this place."

  So either someone had slacked doing their job, or the traitor had been one of those assigned guard duty here. She pinpointed the emotion in his voice.

  Regret.

  As if he'd long ago accepted the job of dealing with those behind his clan's breach of security.

  Like his King, Matt seemed to feel responsibility heavily. A rare thing in this era. Then again, he wasn't from this time, any more than she was.

  Weak sunlight filtered through a few bare patches in the roof and broken skylights. Shadows danced over Matt's face, strengthened his masculine features. The snap of fire didn't fade from his hooded gaze. Neither did the ball of heat in her lower belly.

  Anca shoved at the useless musings once more, struggling to ignore the lingering memory of his kiss. She got back to work, reading the magic as she strode deeper inside.

  Matt's nearly inaudible footsteps shadowed her with an echo of protective strength she first avoided, then forgot to fight.

  The scent of blood grew staggering. Layers upon layers of terrified despair wove through it.

  The darkness wrought here was a buried heart, softly thumping, its pulsing echoes a physical sensation rippling through the air. It brushed over her skin with an acidic burn. Her resolve to ensure that the Rogues responsible for these horrors paid, and dearly, flared brightly.

  The few earth spirits willing to enter this place were so weak, they were little more than faintly flickering forms. They urged Anca toward one of the metal tables. Dried blood made the gurney appear black. Reaching its side, she could clearly see the overlapping magics, could separate them, study them individually.

  "Here." The word was a whisper she hadn't meant to utter.

  Matt stopped a few feet away.

  The torture and death of so many had sootily penetrated every last layer of magic. Blackest of all were those who had committed such atrocities. Drank in the power of such sacrifices, like some sort of depraved meal. She'd dealt with vampires who'd turned their back on their humanity. Descending into bloodlust, they wreaked havoc, killing indiscriminately, until they were stopped.

  Those behind the happenings in this town weren't mindless creatures, unthinking, filled only with primal urges.

  They knew exactly what they were doing.

  Worst of all, they enjoyed it. And enjoyed the black powers such acts brought.

  She concentrated harder, determined to memorize the remnants of their auras, their magics. She would learn them, hunt them until she found their lair.

  Killing these Rogues would be no hardship, but instead, a merciful pleasure.

  Of the magic left behind, most were vampire. One glowing thread held Anca's attention. It was the strongest, most likely belonging to the leader.

  There was something off about it.

  The gray flecked with red appeared normal at first. But like the kid Robby, both gray and crimson were laced with a frail yet stunning white of youth. The remnants spoke of great power. Centuries since the child's turning.

  Horror washed through Anca at the bright glow of white. How young had this one been when turned?

  Ten? Eleven?

  The survival rate was next to nothing at that mortal age.

  How many centuries had the vampiric child been with a Master who followed the path of evil?

  Anca's throat tightened as she spoke. "Do you know if any of the Rogues are children? Someone who was turned younger than your Robby, by a handful of mortal years or so."

  Matt rocked back on his heels. "I'll ask Jordan for more specifics, but I recall mention of a vampire, lieutenant to Thomas Montgomery. A girl, ten to twelve years old. She was killed in the fight last year."

  Furious at the thought of someone turning such a young child, Anca glared at the gurney, closely studying the feel of everything left behind.

  The odds of the Rogues having more powerful children were next to impossible. Yet, whoever had left these threads of magic was far from dead.

  Had the girl stepped into Montgomery's shoes, continuing his dark works?

  If so...

  The thought of killing a child, however necessary, sent her stomach twisting. Best not to dwell on the idea.

  Looking closely at the other threads of magic, she found another powerful remnant. Vampire, with an additional bite. A strange blending of Arcaine, a half-breed of some kind. As old and nearly as powerful as the girl.

  Just as heavy was the ice blue of a shifter. Working side by side with the vampires.

  It appeared the child was in charge, with the other two following her. Intermixed with their magic were fainter trails. Followers who'd only visited once or twice.

  Anca glanced at Matt. "How familiar are you with the local pack of wolf shifters? MacDougal said you know most people in town."

  Matt stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Why?" The word dripped with suspicion.

  Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, she replied dryly, "Because it looks like we have a child vampire leading this mess. She has two powerful lieutenants, an old vampire half-breed and a wolf."

  Matt relaxed the slightest bit. "So far, there's been no sign of anyone from the local pack dealing with the Rogues. Their people have been murdered, just like our clan.

  Turning back to the gurney, Anca tracked the three most powerful. She took each one's magic into herself, ensuring she'd thoroughly memorized the look, the taste, the scent and sound, the minute complexities, of each.

  Finished, she led the way back toward the door.

  Matt's cell phone rang shrilly. He glanced at her before answering. "Sir?"

  Jordan's voice was hard. "Where are you?"

  "The train yard."

  "Get back to town. Now. There's been another murder."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Matt stared at Anca with a fierce look. "What? Who?"

  Easily hearing both sides of the conversation, she followed along.

  Sighing wearily, MacDougal answered, "Just go meet the sheriff." He barked out some street names.

  Matt replied, "We'll be there in ten." Hanging up, he slipped the cell in his pocket, then led her out to his SUV, opening the passenger door with a grim look.

  Anca's stomach churned. She was here to stop the killings, not witness more of them. It didn't matter she'd been in town only one day. A part of her felt she should have prevented this.

  In town, Matt stopped near two sheriff's vehicles, which were parked haphazardly in front of an alleyway nestled between storefronts. Shelves of curio and antique items lined display windows to either side.

  Anca approached the busy crime scene, studying everyone and everything. This place was devoid of any connection to the earth spirits. They'd fled from whatever had happened here.

  A tall man in a khaki sheriff's uniform barked out orders. His long, dark hair held a braid at his temple, sporting a bit of colorful twine and a small black feather. The late afternoon sun didn't reach far between the buildings, leaving the ground in shadow.

  The sheriff's sharply chiseled features were harshened by the play of light and dark across his face. Combined with a loud, powerful voice, he projected authority. The handful of other officers scurried to follow his orders.

  Seeing his aura up close and in person struck Anca a bit mute. The magic flickering around him was nearly blinding. An angry prickle washed over her skin.

  Some of his magic came from the Council. She could taste it.

  This man was many things.

  Human.

  Shaman.

  Keeper of the Peace.

  Plus sheriff? He must stay busy.

  She'd needed to talk to him. Looked like she was getting her chance. Not precisely as hoped, however.

  Another, older man, mortal by his peach and rose colored aura, walked the scene. His graying hair and stooped shoulders con
trasted with a spry step. Sad worry dampened his expression as he raised a large camera and snapped some pictures, then adjusted his angle by less than a degree for more shots.

  Matt brushed by her, heading for the Keeper. "Shane."

  The man glanced up at Matt. "What're you doing here? Finally snuck out of the hospital?"

  Matt just shrugged, so the sheriff turned to Anca. He looked her over a long moment before he held out a hand. "I've been expecting you sooner or later. You're a bit different than I'd imagined someone the Council would send. Shane Spencer."

  She ignored his hand

  He let it fall. "You are?"

  "Anca Fieraru. What do you have so far?"

  "Fieraru? Are you now? Interesting." He settled back on his boot heels, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Why would my name be interesting?"

  His gaze dropped to the sword at her hip. "Fieraru. An old Romani lineage. György Fieraru. A most famous sword smith."

  Surprised he'd know such a thing, Anca replied, "My father." Her hand drifted to the hilt of her saif.

  "I've heard stories of him. And you, as well."

  Anca didn't particularly care to know what stories he might have heard about her. Nor did she feel up to reminiscing over old tales of her tată.

  She waved at the bloody scene in front of them, turning the conversation back to the topic at hand. "What happened here?"

  "How about you tell me what you see, and we'll go from there." The twitch of his mouth, the spark of magic in his gaze, held a dare, a bit of a test.

  He wanted to know what she could do—one Council magic user to another.

  She moved closer, focusing on the body.

  Or, bodies.

  There had to be more than one, but it was hard to tell how many. Black-red drenched the scattered, dismembered pieces.

  She searched the residual magic above the blood soaked ground. "Victims. Vampire." Weak magics blended together. "At least two or three, but I can't be certain of the exact number."

  Shane stated, "We've found... pieces... belonging to three clan vampires."

  "Who?" Matt demanded in a low growl.

  Shane listed three names Anca didn't recognize.

  Matt visibly shook with anger, his shoulders bowing deeper as if each name weighed on him mightily. His gaze stayed on the bodies, hands fisted tight at his sides.

  An inner urge drove Anca harder to find those responsible. She opened more of herself to the scene.

  She drank in the magic, her senses drowning in the tastes, the sights, the scents. Inhaling tainted air, she sorted through what was there. Like a blade slipping deep, far more than she wanted washed over her. "They tortured the victims here. Whatever ritual it is they use, they performed it here."

  How? The vampires had finally passed from the Rogues reach only a short time ago. The blood remained wetly fresh, the scent of death heavy. "How could they have the time, here in town, during the day?"

  The sheriff shook his head. "Only way I can figure is by shielding themselves somehow. But damned if I can find a trace of any kind of magic like that. And it doesn't explain how I myself didn't feel them. Nothing can hide or cloak themselves from a Council appointed Keeper. Just like you."

  Anca thought out loud. "And why would they bother to risk performing the ceremony out in the open?"

  The sheriff and Matt both leveled their gazes on her.

  She answered herself with the same thing they had to be thinking, "The Rogues know someone from the Council is in town. Now they want to test my limits."

  And she'd failed the test.

  The Rogues couldn't possibly know she was a Judge. But she wondered how many people the King had alerted. Had one of them been the traitor?

  Singing tension tightened Matt's shoulders. Snapping anger clouded his expression. He pulled out his phone, dialing as he strode a few feet from the crime scene.

  Anca concentrated on the torn bodies once more. She immediately spotted the same remnants, brighter and stronger here, of the three powerful Rogues. A child vampire. A half-breed still fuzzily undecipherable. And a wolf.

  As the sheriff said, how could he not have felt such dark rituals taking place in his territory? Appointed by the Council as Keeper of the Peace between the Arcaine races, his authority was nearly as powerful as a Judge's.

  He should have been alerted the second they began. With his hereditary shamanic powers the man was outrageously strong. Yet he'd felt nothing until the Rogues had either left, or allowed the bodies to be found?

  Anca didn't like the thoughts running through her mind.

  What could hide themselves from not just an entire vampire clan on high alert, but a Keeper as well, however impossible such a thing might sound?

  Near his SUV, Matt filled MacDougal in on everything, then continued into a hushed conversation about wanting some guard duty records. He hung up and strode back to the murder scene.

  Anca remained out of the way while the sheriff's men finished their work.

  She approved of the way Shane directed them, keeping most contamination at the edges of the scene—and the magical remnants she was impatient to study up close.

  Finally, the sheriff cleared the immediate area. "Do whatever you need to. My men and I will finish up the perimeter, and when you're done here, we'll take care of the rest."

  She bit back a short remark on how he hadn't been taking care of his territory very well. Not because of the Rogues, but the failure to cleanse the earth as he should have done.

  Now wasn't the time for an argument.

  Anca slowly approached the thick bloodstains. The air chilled. She threw up shields against the coiling black magic, lingering like a cloud of evil. Infiltrating everything it touched. She breathed shallowly as if to prevent it from getting inside her.

  Then she concentrated on finding out anything more she could about these Rogues, and their leaders.

  ***

  Matt stayed back but paid close attention. Anca drifted around the area, sometimes mumbling soundlessly. Every two feet she stopped and closed her eyes, cocking her head as if listening to something.

  She jerked to a stop, staring down the street. Then she circled the bloodied bodies. A moment later, she turned to them triumphantly. Her dusky skin was flushed, her smoky blue eyes glinted with excitement. And a hint of red, a hunger for the hunt. "I found them. They can be followed. Only, there are two trails going opposite directions."

  Shane rubbed his chin, watching her, then sent Matt a questioning look.

  The only answer Matt could give was a shrug. He didn't trust the woman, but he didn't exactly not trust her either. And when had that happened?

  "Well, then," Shane said. "I'll ask what kind of magic you have that allows you to track what even I can't sense."

  She shot him a sharp look, then in the blink of an eye, changed. From competent huntress, she suddenly appeared young, innocent. She twirled a finger in her long, loose raven hair, blinking up at Shane. "I'm from the Magic Council. Or have you forgotten already?"

  Shane's mouth twitched. "You have strong Romani magic, yes? Nature based, if I remember correctly?"

  Anca's eyes sparked with pleasure. But she only said, "Auras."

  Nodding, Shane replied, "Then I guess you best get to work." He shot Matt a look warning him to be careful.

  Anca turned and started east. Following the auras, Matt guessed.

  He hurried after her.

  His heart ached at more deaths in the clan. Tensions were high, for everyone who lived and around Moss Creek. From mortal to clan to pack to scattered, misfit Arcaine, it seemed no one was safe.

  On the phone, Jordan had worried over the idea that the Rogues might already know of Anca's arrival. Few in the clan had been told.

  A block away, Anca stopped, staring intently at a wavering shadowy blur down the street. As Matt neared, he made out three distinct shapes. Ravaged by other Arcaine, the vampires were whole, except, not exactly. Their bodies had been r
eformed, but for clear gaps between each severed body part.

  He glanced over at Anca, wondering suddenly if she too could see ghosts. Only she wasn't looking at the lingering souls of the vampires, but the ground at their feet.

  She'd said she saw auras. He knew the New Age mumbo jumbo about such things, but that didn't sound like what she meant.

  She continued walking. He continued to follow.

  Nearly a mile away, she stopped once more, muttering under her breath, "Să te ia dracu." When she spoke Romani, her voice thickened with an enticing European lilt.

  Matt asked, "What does that mean?"

  Anca shot him a startled look, as if she hadn't realized she'd said it out loud. With a wry glare at the sidewalk, she replied, "Essentially? Along the lines of may the devil take you. Or, if you prefer a simpler translation, go to hell."

  She headed back the way they'd come. "Trail ended. Most likely they got into a vehicle and drove away."

  "You can't follow a car?"

  She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. Shadows darkened her eyes with exhaustion and weariness.

  "I follow the paths automatically left by one's magic, wherever people go. Contained in a building, well, I can at least track it to the door. A vehicle, on the other hand, locks the magic inside, leaving no trace."

  "You see the magic?" His curiosity was piqued. "But obviously, different from Shane, since he can't see what you do."

  Anca shrugged. "What does it matter?"

  Snapping his mouth shut, jaw tight, he dropped back a few feet and remained silent. It didn't matter in the slightest. Nor did that kiss earlier. In fact, he'd pushed it far from his mind.

  Mostly.

  Anca reached the scene once more. Without stopping, she hurried past the sheriff and his men.

  Following the second trail?

  "What's up?" Shane asked Matt when he passed them.

  Matt explained briefly.

  "She piss you off?" the man asked, his amusement clear.

  "The woman's closed off as all hell," Matt grumbled in reply.

  A spark lit Shane's eyes. "What's it to you if she's cold or not?"

  "Never mind," he growled, hurrying after Anca.

  She'd already gotten almost a block ahead. She might be tiny, but she was quick.